


Wait For Me To Come Home

by DizzyRedhead



Series: All I Want For Christmas [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Cookies, Feelstide 2015, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5308046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint keeps himself busy while waiting for Phil to make it home for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait For Me To Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Feelstide prompt: "Christmas is actually Clint and Phil's anniversary - they got together during/post an undercover mission over Christmas"
> 
> Big thanks to [Faeleverte](http://faeleverte.tumblr.com/) for the last-minute beta-reading, for inspiring me with her epic and amazing Clint/Coulson fics, and for generally cheerleading and handholding me through my first shaky steps into writing this pairing.
> 
> Title from ["Photograph" by Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSDgHBxUbVQ)

Tony followed the smells of sugar and cinnamon and chocolate out of the elevator and into the communal kitchen. “Oooh, cookies,” he said, reaching toward the nearest cooling rack for a perfectly golden cookie studded with nuts and chocolate chips.

Clint spun around and grabbed Tony’s wrist two inches before he touched the cookie, still holding the pan he’d just taken from the oven in his other hand. “Not those.”

“But cookies!” Tony protested, trying to move his arm, to no avail. Clint’s grip was like iron.

“Not those,” Clint repeated flatly, “unless you want your jaw wired shut. See the ones on the table? Those you can eat. Leave these alone.”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Tony said, and Clint finally allowed him to pull free.

Tony thought about grabbing the cookie anyway, because he was an adult and could do what he wanted, but Clint was wearing his patented Deadly Assassin Resting Bitch Face and was probably entirely serious about the jaw-wiring-shut thing.

Tony sulked his way around the end of the island to the table, but he brightened when he saw the platters piled high with different types of cookies that covered every inch of the tabletop. After a minute of deliberation, he picked up a cookie that looked identical to the one he’d been reaching for before and bit off half of it before any crazy assassin-archers could stop him.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled around the mouthful of cookie. “This’s mmmmazing.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, transferring the puffy cinammon-dusted cookies from the cookie sheet he was holding to a cooling rack.

Tony swallowed the last of the cookie and reached for one that looked like it had white chocolate chips. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t even know you could cook.”

“Just because I don’t cook for you doesn’t mean I can’t cook,” Clint said, smirking at him. “Anyway, it’s almost Christmas. I like making cookies for Christmas.”

“Whatever you say,” Tony said, biting into the white chocolate chip one and just barely managing to hold back a moan as the flavors exploded across his tongue. “Jesus, that's good. Have Rogers and Thor been in here yet?”

“Not yet,” Clint said, moving back to the mixing bowl and starting to roll balls of dough between his hands.

Tony rummaged through the cabinets until he came up with a plastic container with a lid, then went back to the table and started loading cookies into it. “I’d better save myself some before those two walking appetites get ahold of them. They’re like a biblical plague or something. Nothing but crumbs and destruction left in their wake. Besides, Pepper’ll want some.”

“Whatever you say,” Clint said, mimicking Tony’s inflection exactly.

Tony snapped the lid onto the container and shot him a glare. “There’s only room for one smartass in this Tower, Barton, and it sure as hell isn’t you.” He popped another cookie, this one lightly lemon-flavored, into his mouth and left the kitchen, shielding the container with his body.

“Then you shouldn’t have asked us to move in,” Clint shouted down the hall after him. “Especially Steve.”

“What about me?” Steve asked, his eyes lighting up as he saw the cookie-laden table.

“Nothing,” Clint said, turning back to the oven as the timer went off. “Want a cookie?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Steve said, settling into a chair and eyeing the cookies like a kid in a candy store.

* * *

Clint carefully lifted two of each cookie off of the cooling racks and placed them gently on the platter, arranging them just so. When he realized he’d moved the same cookie three times in a minute, he snapped on the clear, domed lid, making sure that it had sealed properly, and stepped back with a sigh.

“He’ll be here,” Natasha said from behind him.

Clint didn’t bother to control his flinch. “Jesus, Nat, wear a goddamn bell or something.”

She ignored him. “He won’t miss Christmas. Not unless he can’t help it.”

“I _know_ ,” Clint said, covering the platters on the table and loading the cooling racks and cookie sheets into the dishwasher. “I’m not worried.”

Natasha gave him a look.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m just...trying to keep myself busy.”

“So you won’t worry,” she finished. “You’ve used up all the flour and sugar, and everything is clean. Let’s go watch a movie or something while we wait.”

Clint looked down to where he was rubbing the thumb of his left hand against the silver band on his ring finger. “Yeah, okay.”

“He’ll be here,” Natasha said, slinging an arm around his waist and herding him out of the kitchen.

“I know.”

* * *

Clint clung desperately to sleep, not wanting to wake up quite yet. He’d been dreaming that Phil was there, cuddled up behind him, one strong arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. He could almost feel Phil’s warm breath against the nape of his neck and the tickle of Phil’s chest hair against his back…

Clint suddenly realized that his eyes were open. Moonlight was filtering in through the currently translucent windows of their apartment in Stark Tower, and there was a familiar warmth at his back. He snuggled backward, and the arm around his waist squeezed a little tighter.

“Love you,” Phil mumbled into Clint’s hair.

Clint closed his eyes again with a smile. “Love you, too, babe,” he whispered, and let himself sink back into sleep.

* * *

When Clint woke again dim sunlight was glowing through the windows and they had shifted positions in the night. Phil was lying on his back with Clint curled around him, his head pillowed on Phil’s shoulder, an arm and leg thrown across Phil’s body as though to physically prevent him from leaving.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Phil said, his voice morning-rough and achingly familiar. “Merry Christmas.”

Clint didn’t realize he was smiling until he leaned in for a kiss, but Phil was smiling too as their lips met, so that was okay.

“Happy anniversary, babe,” he said, pulling back enough to see Phil’s eyes crinkle before kissing his husband again.

The kiss started off sweet and gentle, but they hadn’t seen each other in almost a month, so it quickly became heated. Clint coaxed Phil’s mouth open, licking inside and moaning into the kiss when Phil rolled them, pinning Clint underneath him and settling in between Clint’s spread legs without breaking the kiss. Clint wriggled a little, just to feel Phil’s solid weight pressing him into the bed and the soft cotton of Phil’s boxers dragging between their cocks, and it was Phil’s turn to groan, tearing his mouth reluctantly away from Clint’s. “Missed you,” he gasped, burying his face in Clint’s neck and grinding down.

“Missed you too,” Clint murmured, arching his neck and rolling his hips up to meet Phil’s. He slid his hands down Phil’s back and under the waistband of his boxers, digging his fingernails into the hard muscle of Phil’s ass.

“Want to fuck you,” Phil growled, scraping his teeth over the thin skin under Clint’s ear in mock retaliation.

Clint smirked and finished shoving Phil’s boxers down, tossing them aside without looking (okay, so he threw them in the hamper, whatever. Phil liked it when things were neat). He took Phil’s hand and guided it down between his legs until their joined fingers brushed over the base of the plug nestled between his cheeks, just where he’d put it last night before going to bed.

Phil raised his eyebrows, and Clint shrugged. “Knew you’d be here.”

Phil leaned down to kiss him again, long and slow and filthy, and Clint smiled into the kiss when he heard the bedside table drawer open and shut and the click of the lube being opened. Phil finally broke the kiss to start gently pulling the butt plug out with one hand, the other slicking lube over his cock. Clint threw his head back on the pillow and sucked in a deep breath, savoring the stretch as the widest part of the plug opened him up.

“You ready?” Phil asked, moving back between Clint’s legs, his voice low and rough in the way that only Clint ever got to hear.

“I’ve  _been_ ready, babe,” Clint said, lifting one leg and wrapping it around Phil’s waist. “Get over here and fuck me already.”

Phil smiled and lined himself up, pushing inside in one long, hard stroke. They both sucked in a breath as he slid inside with no resistance, Clint arching his hips up in a wordless plea for every last inch of his husband’s cock. Phil closed his eyes for a minute, then grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Clint’s ass before pushing his knees back toward his chest and starting to move, fucking him with long, steady strokes.

“Fuck, Phil, yes,” Clint babbled, grabbing his legs and pulling them back further, opening himself up, his cock bouncing against his stomach, hard and aching. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

Phil moved his hands to cover Clint’s, bending him almost in half and fucking him harder. “Love when you’re ready for me, when I can just slide in and fuck you,” he growled. “Not gonna last long, love, you feel so good.”

“Me either--” Clint groaned when Phil’s cock dragged over his prostate. “Phil, please, babe, need you to touch me. Missed you so much, wanna come with your hand on me, please...”

Phil reached between them and curled his hand around Clint’s cock, stroking in the same rhythm as each relentless thrust of his cock across Clint’s prostate. “Come for me, love,” he ordered, his eyes hot and intent on Clint’s face. “Let me see it, love watching you come for me--”

Clint came with Phil’s voice in his ears, Phil’s hand on his cock, and Phil’s cock inside him, shuddering through his climax. He was aware, vaguely, that Phil’s steady rhythm stuttered then, Phil’s hand tightening on his leg and Phil coming hard and hot inside him, but by the time he was up to thoughts more complex than “Phil” and “fuck” and “good,” he was curled up in Phil’s arms and everything was perfect.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Phil said, dropping a kiss on his hair.

Clint stretched a little and smirked up at his husband. “So, best present ever?”

Phil pursed his lips, but his eyes were twinkling. “Well, top five at least.”

“Asshole,” Clint said amiably, pinching Phil’s side just to see him jump.

“Yeah, but you knew that when you married me,” Phil said.

Clint shrugged, because it was true, then sat bolt upright in the bed. “Oh, I almost forgot! Be right back.”

He detoured into the bathroom for quick cleanup then padded naked into the kitchen and came back with the cookie platter, napkins, and two glasses of milk, setting them on the bedside table with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Phil sat up, scooting back to sit against the headboard, and smiled at him. “You know you don’t have to do this every year.”

“Well, if you don’t _want_ my cookies…” Clint said, reaching for the platter.

“No, no,” Phil said hurriedly, pulling the cover off and grabbing a cookie. “I’m just saying…”

Clint grabbed a couple of cookies for himself and his glass and crawled onto the bed. “I know, babe. But I like having our own little Christmas anniversary tradition, just for the two of us. Just like the first time.”

Phil licked away the milk mustache from his upper lip and set his glass back on the table. “I like it, too. That reminds me, though, it’s time to send Nick his annual thank-you note for sending us on that mission together.”

“Oh, good,” Clint said, grinning wickedly. He set his own glass down and cuddled back up to his husband. Phil lifted his phone, checked the angle, then leaned down for a long, passionate kiss.

The camera clicked several times, and Phil finally pulled back from the kiss to look at the pictures.

“That one,” Clint said, pointing to the screen. “It looks like we’re just getting started instead of already done. Go ahead and send me a copy, too.”

Phil rolled his eyes, but attached the photo to a text and typed briskly for a few moments, Clint reading shamelessly over his shoulder, then hit Send.

“There,” Phil said, setting his phone aside and picking up his glass and cookie again. “Like I was saying, you don’t have to do this every year, but I’m glad you do. Seeing you standing there when I opened the door...it’s one of my favorite memories.”

“I was scared to death,” Clint admitted, snuggling closer. “But I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“Me either,” Phil said. “Merry Christmas, Clint.”

“Happy Anniversary, Phil.”

* * *

In another city, Nick Fury picked up his phone and absently swiped to unlock it-- “Motherfucker!”

He glared at the screen and the picture of Coulson and Barton, clearly naked and making out like teenagers. He closed the picture, but that just made the message pop up on his screen.

**Cheese: Best matchmaker ever! Merry Christmas!**

Fury shook his head and tapped out a response.

**Marcus: You better quit sending me these pictures or I’ll make sure your husband ends up in Siberia for a year.**

The return text was almost instantaneous.

** Cheese: Just want you to have evidence of your good work. Besides, you still owe me half of whatever you won in that pool. **

** Marcus: Will you quit sending me your makeout pictures? **

** Cheese: Sure **

** Marcus: It’ll be in your account tomorrow **

** Cheese: Merry Christmas **

** Marcus: Yeah, yeah, happy anniversary or whatever **

* * *

Next Christmas, Clint sent the picture.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the part at the end where Phil is demanding money, I headcanon that Nick Fury has an annoying habit of betting with new SHIELD agents that Phil can't take down whatever badass is around, and Phil got so annoyed that he just started demanding a cut. Fury manipulated events in order to win the office pool about when Phil and Clint would stop pining after each other and finally get together, so Phil feels like their bargain stands. Also, he's a little annoyed about the manipulation, even though the end result was awesome, so he sends the "thank-you" pictures every year. Because Phil Coulson is kind of a troll.
> 
> I couldn't resist this prompt, because I have another upcoming fic about how Clint and Phil got together thanks to a Christmas undercover mission. Feel free to subscribe to the series if you'd like to be notified when the prequel is published. Thanks for reading!!!


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